Chapter Fifty- Six: Curtain Call

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The adrenaline rush was indescribeable as I took my final bow, joining hands with my fellow castmates. Everything had passed in such a quick blur that I barely had enough time to remember where I was. Opening night had come and gone, the entire night filled with high stress levels and jumbled nerves. People rushing all around before showtime to help fix each other's hair, costume, go over last minute choreography, and do vocal warmups. I wanted to stay in the boy's company but Mrs. Coats was quickly calling me over to place a wig on me. Before I knew it, I was into my costume and getting a wired mic taped onto my cheek. 

"Test, test," the pre-show techinical rehearsal was a breath of fresh air. Those with lead or supporting roles had a microphone attatched to us, running up our backs underneath the heavy costumes. My voice rang out past the stage into the audience. "Is this what really I sound like?"

"I feel like Hilary Duff from her one movie and we're about to start singing This Is What Dreams Are Made Of." I turned to follow the voice, a grin on my bright red lips as Abigail stepped onto stage, adjusting her microphone. Her usual long red hair was covered by brown wig, which she would then switch for a cotton candy pink one during intermission. We had on similar costumes; black tight skirts, black tank tops, and the signature hot 'Pink Ladies' jacket on. "I feel like a superstar!" She gushed. Our conversation was quickly cut off by a frazzled Kelly who was totally freaking out about opening night. All of us were, but at least we had the decency to hide most of it instead of freaking everyone else out.

"Where's my microphone? Where's my Danny?! Harry! Harry, where are you? We have to rehearse- NOW!" Kelly reminded me of those bridezillas you saw in movies or on reality televison shows.

"Calm down, I'm right here." I whirled around, my breath seemed to escape me as I took him in. He had on a pair of tight fitting jeans, a tight muscle shirt, and a leather T-Bird jacket. His unruly chocolate curls were gelled back in perfection, a loose curl hanging down in his forehead. When his eyes met mine, I wanted to sigh in awe. He looked so edible in that costume... The things I could do to him... If only I could drag him back stage and- "You look hot," his words echoed the room as he plugged himself in.

"Shut up," I simply rolled my eyes, trying to play it off cool when in reality I was melting with every look. You would think after a good five months you'd get use to a person and not be so nervous around them. But everything with Harry was so different. Everything felt new and sent butterflies in my stomach into a frenzy. Harry leaned in, ready to kiss me right then and there in front of everyone when Kelly screeched.

"No! She had red lipstick on. Danny can not have red lipstick on him come show time. Do you got it? You two, seperate!" Kelly stood in front of us, turning her back to me so she could look at Harry. "We have to get into the characters of Sandy and Danny. Please," but her plead sounded more like a command.

"Alright, your royal highness," Harry rolled his eyes and stuffed his hands into the jacket pockets. "It's cool," he grinned at how frustrated he made Kelly. She stormed off a few moments later, complaining about how her hair was falling down already. "Talk about drama queen." Harry stepped closer to me, kissing my forehead lightly. "Break a leg, Chrissy."

"Break your face, Hazza," I cooed back.

"I don't think that's how the saying goes," Harry grinned down at me. And with just a simple look, I felt my entire body relax. All my pre-show nerves slowly evaporated when I looked at him. Harry managed to calm me down without even saying a word, just with those perfect eyes... And those perfect salmon colored lips that were currently calling to me... The way his outfit clung to his masculine body... God, am I in heat? Before I had the chance to wish the other boys good luck, the stage manager was quickly rushing us off the stage after a second microphone check. The curtains closed as people began filing into the house seats, their eager chatting was muffled by the curtain. It was then, with ten minutes until they went back up, that I began to worry about my performance. What if I forget a line? What if I run into someone while dancing? What if something goes terribly wrong with my microphone? I didn't have much time to stand and worry because before I knew it, Luke was by my side and distracting me. 

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